


A Drink

by Enchantedtalisman



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: First Meetings, Fluff, Implied Time Travel, M/M, No Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 03:32:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18460595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enchantedtalisman/pseuds/Enchantedtalisman
Summary: Bayek does not know who he is.The man that looks oddly familiar. It's in his eyes, Bayek thinks. Or perhaps it is the way the man walks. Like a soldier, no, not like a soldier, but...Perhaps a Medjay? But Bayek and Aya are the last of their order...





	A Drink

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to (finally) finish Origins and I just...really love Bayek? And I'm so sad there's not more Desmond/Bayek (or Desmond/Alexios for that matter). So trying to fill that gap with the information I already know about Bayek.
> 
> Ugh so much to do ingame.
> 
> And so much to try and write.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! <3

 

 Bayek does not know who he is.

The man that looks oddly familiar. It's in his eyes, Bayek thinks. Or perhaps it is the way the man walks. Like a soldier, no, not like a soldier, but...

Perhaps a Medjay? But Bayek and Aya are the last of their order...

Their son.

 _Bayek's son_.

Should have--

Bayek pushes those thoughts away and watches the man continue down the street. For a man who _looks_  at least somewhat Egyptian, possibly mixed, he seems very confused by things. Oh, he hides it well, but Bayek has been trained for outside and internal threats.

Even when his hands stain with blood, Bayek follows Ma'at's decrees as best he can. The Pharoah and the people of Egypt must be protected.

More time passes with Bayek being a silent observer. A few times he swears the man sees him, but considering the man doesn't have an eagle of his own, Bayek doubt it. He is almost always half a street away and if it wasn't for his eagle and best friend he wouldn't be able to keep up with the man.

The man who stops finally in an rather small alley and looks around before _climbing_  the almost smooth wall of the house behind him.

Well, that is strange enough for Bayek to come closer. He realizes too late that the man has actually been tracking him just the same as Bayek has.

"Huh," The man says, his _Demotic_ is thick and accented, which is strange because Bayek knows several accents and can't pinpoint where he's from. The closest he supposes is a language he once heard from northerners, far north past Greece who had visited briefly years ago; a barbarian the greeks had called them behind their backs.

"You are new here." Bayek offers civilly. No need to cause a fuss if the man is truly just passing through. He still keeps a hand near his staff ready to pull it out and destroy a threat. If the man is one.

"Y-yeah, I am, ha. Very new." The man chuckles and rubs at the side of his face. He looks ready to collapse right there and then.

It's alarming enough that Bayek let's his guard down. While he may be a death dealer, he is _also_  a protector, a nurturer in times of peace. It is only natural for him to take steps forward and clasp a hand on the man's shoulder. "Tell me your name, friend, and I will help you drink those sorrows away."

"You have _alcohol_ here?" The word isn't quite right on the man's tongue but Bayek gets it well enough, his Demotic is not the best, but Bayek has certainly heard worse. At least the man does not try to speak middle egyptian like some of the greek scholars.

"Yes." Bayek raises a brow, "What is your name, friend?" He adds pointedly.

"Ah, uh, it's..." Even before the man closes his mouth Bayek knows he's contemplating lying, which is suspicious but something tells Bayek that the man isn't...is good, maybe not a wholely blessed man, but a good man, "fuck it," He whispers low enough that it's not meant for Bayek's ears, "I'm Desmond."

"Des..mond." Bayek tastes the word and knows he's butchered the name but the man doesn't rebuke him.

"So, how about that alcohol?" Desmond asks, hope in his tone.

Bayek smile is lighter than it has been in several months. He nods towards the streets. "Let us find you something, Desmond, and you can take comfort in my bed."

Desmonds eyes widen.

"Ah, you truly aren't an Egyptian. Not laying in my bed." Bayek laughs at Desmond's embarrassment, and pats the man's shoulder, "You are far too pretty to bed just once."

This time Desmond chokes on air and Bayek's laughter is louder than it has been in a year.

 

Bayek decides to get a simple drink, lowly fermented because he isn't sure he _wants_  to see if the man is in the way of drunkenhood. It is always an unsettling and heart-hurting sight to see demons eat away at a man's mind so that they go to drink.

The place they sit is one of the houses Bayek has taken refuge in before, and bought with _mostly_ honest coin. By now he has a refuge in all the towns and cities he has passed through. What that says about him, he tries not to think on.

They are seated at a low table with an odd couch that Bayek is partially sure is hay stuffed into some bags, but it is comfortable to sleep on and sit on. Close enough that Bayek can feel the heat of Desmond's body but not enough to touch.

Desmond for his part tastes the beer with reservation. 

The dark color and the bits of dates in it, Bayek knows looks odd and most foreigners refuse to drink it until their stores run out. But it is one of the best beers Bayek has ever tasted, and he is not biased. Whatever they do to the beers in Greece and Rome are horrible and should not be called a beverage.

"This...this is good. Like a --- tastes sweet and wonderful." The word Desmond uses there is definitely not Demotic, but it doesn't seem a bad thing.

"I will have to try this...co-ck-ta-il," The word sounds strange on Bayek's tongue and he feels a little heat fill his cheeks. Even if it's a drink the first word is definitely not one said in polite company, for the most part, and from the look on Desmond's face he seems to realize the reason why Bayek stumbled.

"Might be hard to do," Desmond admits with a pained laugh.  His eyes grow distant which is exactly the opposite reaction Bayek had hoped for.

"Then, let us drink and enjoy what we do have." Bayek says softly and proddingly. "We may have lost but we will gain." He knows vengeance cannot sustain him, and knows Aya has already wants more. Wants enough that Bayek and Aya is no more. Which hurts _almost_  as bad as losing his son.

"Maybe you need more drink." Desmond murmurs, waking Bayek from his thoughts.

"Ah, there cannot be enough drink to fill the holes in my heart." Bayek takes a long drink, and then sighs at the sweet taste.  He licks his lips and swipes at his neck when he realizes there's a drizzle of syrupy beer running down it. Only when his eyes lower does he realize Desmond is staring.

Eyes wide, lips slightly parted. Very pretty lips, and a tongue that peeks out and makes Bayek's attraction rise.

"Your gaze speaks louder than you do." Bayek offers, because he is _helping_  the man, and that means if the man is not ready or not truly invested in what his body is feeling, then he will have Bayek's respect. Even mixed or foreigners can earn a Medjey's protection.

Desmond's mouth snaps shut and he looks away. He doesn't look happy by his slip but neither does he reprimand Bayek.

Bayek _can_  be a patient man, no matter what others have said, and so he sips at his beer. Tasting the smooth sweet taste, that he rarely has ability to enjoy. There are things one must abstain from when a Medjay, some voluntarily and others not so much, and one of them has been drink or other recreational activities that could dull the senses. Sometimes, Bayek misses his easy bedding with Aya, but on most days he is glad for their friendship which did at least last through their...disagreements.

"I, er, I'm flattered." Desmond finally says, he swirls the cup filled with beer in a spiraling pattern with a dexterity that isn't common in a civilian.

There's another pause of silence, and Bayek is at least glad for his older age. A man rebuffing him decades earlier would have been met with a quick frustrated leaving. Now, he watches Desmond from the corner of his eye, and wonders what exactly this strange and handsome man came from.

"Shit, this is a lot more complicated then I thought it'd be." Desmond sighs and rolls his shoulders and head, sighing in relief a moment later. "Look, I don't...I'm not one for one night stands. Tried them before in Coll--before. Here. Before here. And a whole lot before really. Shit I haven't had beer in forever." He groans and raises the cup. "I can't believe I've become such a light weight."

"Does that mean you don't want more?" Bayek asks, trying to absorb the rest. For himself he is also not one for one night stands--usually. Not anymore at least. Perhaps when he was younger, but now after Aya well...

Apollodorus had been tempting, but the man was clearly devoted to protecting the Pharaoh.

Bayek himself isn't quite sure where he stands, he is a protector for the Pharaoh but blind loyalty has never suited him well.

So, he nods, "Then we will have to learn eachother won't we?" Bayek says meeting Desmond's gaze.

Desmond's eyes widen before a twisted smile crosses his face, "You seriously want me enough to go long term? You barely know me."

"I never said I want you desperately," Bayek says kindly, "But I would be remiss not to take a lovely man up on his interest." He smirks at Desmond's sudden wide eyes. Poor man doesn't do well with compliments, Bayek is guessing.

"I am in no way lovely. Just the opposite in fact." Desmond shakes his head, that distant look appearing once again on his face. He's forlorn suddenly, far too old to be his, estimated, two or so decades of age.

Or, the father in Bayek notices, the man doesn't _get_  compliments. Perhaps not even from his or rather his once friends and family. If Bayek wasn't intending to bed the man it would be far too easy to take Desmond as another son, but that is a thought best not dwelt on. Perhaps more of an animal, not quite ready for the world, but like Bayek's eagle fierce and motivated and unending in his search for a home.

Bayek could understand those feelings very well.

"Okay, now you've got those eyes on me, I can see why everyone calls you the Warrior of Siwa and the Medjay of death." Desmond isn't backing down though, in fact his lips have parted again.

Bayek doesn't know _exactly_  what his face looks like, he has never glimpsed the expression Desmond speaks of truly--sometimes in riverbeds, or other reflective surfaces but rarely in front of a mirror. But if anything could prompt his sunlight streamed focus it would be the way Desmond looks now. And how he's described; he wishes he _wasn't_  the Medjay of Death, but it is an apt name. "And what am I to you?"

Desmond chokes out a laugh and takes a big gulp of beer, "Persistent aren't you?" He says when he can breath again, "I guess, I'm ready to try. I mean why not? Future can't get more fucked up for me." He says.

Bayek has no context for what Desmond means by the future, but perhaps the man is god-touched, and Bayek thinks this treasure, the one that clearly others have left on the wayside; is more than just a gem in the riverbanks. "I will gladly fuck your future for you." Bayek offers.

The surprised and uninhibited laugh Desmond lets out is warmer and better than any heat the taste of dates could give Bayek.

Even better is when Desmond leans forward, cups the back of Bayek's head, and whispers, "Not if I fuck you first." 

Their lips meet, and it is _divine._

 


End file.
